


Derivative

by klismaphilia, mechayourown



Series: Darkfics/The Fucked Up Reality In My Head [3]
Category: Town of Salem (Video Game)
Genre: Death, Hateful relationship, M/M, Psychosis, Sadism, dub-con, sk loses, someone has to die
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-05
Updated: 2015-07-05
Packaged: 2018-04-07 21:10:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4278045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/klismaphilia/pseuds/klismaphilia, https://archiveofourown.org/users/mechayourown/pseuds/mechayourown
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You're just like me." Town of Salem oneshot, Jailor x Serial Killer, cowritten.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Derivative

**Author's Note:**

> another roleplay-ish thing by Mooncake and Mechy. Mooncake is Jailor and Mech is Serial Killer.

His mind was a bit foggy — was he drugged? He could never recall being drugged, but nothing else really explained the lack of sharpness in his mind. The events seemed a bit of a blur, as odd as it was. 

The serial killer was always good about knowing what was going on. 

What had happened… he could remember the lynching of the Godfather, the small celebration in the town after that, but anything past… It was very, very unsettling for him to not be able to recall anything. Who was he going to target that night even? …Oh yeah. The medium. Wait— 

The serial killer realized, for the first time in his foggy state, that his hands were restricted. He tried moving them, but a loud rattled seemed to echo about. Chains? Handcuffs? He was handcuffed? The killer opened his eyes, expecting there to be an illuminated scene, but his eyelashes only slid against a cool fabric — blindfolded. 

He was handcuffed and blindfolded. He had supposedly heard about who did that, but the serial killer's goal had been to find him before he got arrested. This wasn't good. 

Yet, the killer felt oddly confident. He'd be able to fool him — he already had the majority of the town wrapped around his little finger, and this jailor wouldn't be any different. He'd escape alive, and when he did, the jailor wouldn't ever be able to do anything ever again.

"Who are you?" The jailor asked, his fingers cupping the side of the prisoner's throat, tilting it to the side as his finger massaged the man's pressure point lightly, feeling the thudding of his heartbeat, pulsating slightly faster as he began to come to. The jailor turned the prisoner's head, mouth pressing against the man's ear. "Do you know what you're doing here?"

He didn't really have any regard for the other- who he was wasn't the issue of course. The only issue was why he was here, what unspeakable things he'd done to get himself landed in a prison cell, hands cuffed in front of him as he shook in the chair, bolted in place so as not to cause even more of a ruckus.

The man stuttered something out- 'I don't know what you're talking about,' was it? Or maybe 'I'm innocent'? The jailor called bullshit on either comment easily. Of course he knew what he was doing here- it'd be a wonder if he ever brought in a truly innocent person. You see, even the townspeople had their secrets- he'd been aware of that when he executed the transporter not all that long ago.

"Let's play a little game," the jailor said, running his fingers across the barrel of his gun, clicking the safety off as he positioned the butt against the back of his prisoner's head. 

"You answer my questions. If I don't like your answer, you have thirty seconds to convince me. If you don't convince me...boom." He pressed the man's head forward a tiny bit, blindfold still secured over those piercing eyes. "First, I'd like to know what your profession is. What tools do you work with? What people have you made contact with recently?"  
The serial killer swallowed heavily, his mind momentarily freezing at the sound of the gun and the cold press — any moment now, he could die. The jailor was crazy. 

Asking what tools he worked with, what his profession was–! What was a good lie? What could he pull off easily? Taking in a deep, shaky breath, he answered, "K-Knives. I work with knives and drugs. I'm a doctor, a pediatric. I-I visited the Cornelias last week to help their child who got a c-cold." He was being honest about what he worked with. He could cut a perfect circle into flesh with any knife, but as for the Cornelias… Well, he'd just off them before they could give the jailor anything. 

If only he could see the jailor and get his face. It would've been better — he could make the right approach if he could read his expression and manipulate his way through. No, the serial killer would have to play the part of the terrified children's doctor. He could do that.

"Oh?" The jailor asked, tilting his head, hand reaching around to curve over the man's mouth, forcing his head back so that he was staring straight into the blindfold covering his prisoner's eyes. He breathed out, warm air hitting his victim as the jailor chuckled. "I have no evidence otherwise...not except for the tidbit I was so graciously gifted by the sheriff only this past morning."

His hand dug into the other's jaw with sharp, untrimmed nails, tongue running over his own chapped lips as he continued to stare into what was probably a rather handsome face, waiting for the other to speak again. He tapped the man's nose with a finger before letting his head roll downwards, chin pressed to his chest as the jailor grinned.

"I heard you might be a serial killer- and you do know how much I love those," the jailor hoped the man could hear the abrupt, fervent tone of his voice, as he wandered over to the desk parked beside the cell door, keys slipping back onto the hook as he sat his gun down on the desk, arms folded, uncaring when it slipped off onto the cement floor. He gazed at his victim intently, eyebrow raised as he posed another question. "Pray tell, where would he get that idea, doctor?"

The jailor knew. Oh, how he knew...but fucking with the killer was just too much fun. As easily as he'd grabbed the serial killer's jaw, he could've been spraying the man's brains all across the cell door. But perhaps he had some use...after all, jail changed everything. People were susceptible to things in here that would mortify them outside the walls of the jailhouse.

The serial killer hated that tone. The jailor was looking down on him, having the killer completely and totally under his mercy. Worse yet, if he had been checked out by the sheriff, it was clear as day his role would be revealed and released. He had thought he fooled the sheriff when she interrogated him — gentle flirting, a kind act, answering questions… 

"I don't - I don't know," he lied, despising the feeling of the other man's hands on him. It should've been him who was doing the abusing, sliding the knife along the jailor's skin, forcing him to howl in pain but realize that no one would hear him. The killer's lack of control terrified him. "Whatever they said, they're wrong. I swear." He just wanted to help people, right? That was what a doctor did. 

The serial killer was terrified of dying himself. He loved to kill, torture, and maim others (their blood was incredibly beautiful, after all), but having his own death wasn't something he had ever really considered. It had never come up. 

And now, the jailor could play with him for the entire fucking night. He would just have to keep up the act as best he could and come out on top.

The jailor could tell how infuriated the other man was, how hard he was trying not to show it...but it was just too obvious on the serial killer's lips, in his words, in the way his hands continued to shake in their restraints, and the jailor only chuckled to himself. Make the serial killer think he had at least a chance of survival, if nothing else, and then he'd execute him.

It was sadistic, maybe, playing with psychopaths in this way. Perhaps he was a psychopath himself...watching them squirm under his grasp was just too amusing. The serial killer was denying it now, claiming the sheriff was wrong...claiming he didn't know. The only thing he didn't know for sure was whether or not his life would be ending tonight.

That brought a grin to the jailor's face. He walked over to the serial killer, each hit of his boot against the cement floor resounding throughout the room, echoing in the tiny cell as he reached a hand up to the serial killer's face, and in one quick movement, tugged the blindfold away from his eyes, admiring the brilliant green shade, the way his hair fell into them in a way that set off his features as a whole.

"I've been told you're quite charming," the jailor said. "Always wondered why you never paid me a visit...we could've had loads of fun together." The jailor hissed, pressing his face closer to the killer's. "I could end it. Now. But I have a feeling you're willing to do anything to keep me from pulling this trigger." He smirked, spitting at the killer. "For a pretty price I could leave you a few more hours. But only if you behave for me."

The serial killer knew he was a looker — it was a great advantage. Pretending to be a male prostitute before he entered a person's house, had his way, and then murdered them. But what the jailor was implying… 

The jailor's face was incredibly close, leering down at him. His calculating gray eyes were dancing with a sick pleasure as he spat with each word, attempting to pull the killer in and make him realize that he could be killed now or, by pleasing this other psychopath, he could earn a few hours. 

Those few hours could give him time to think. If he was smart, he could be out of the room and free with the jailor's blood on his hands. But… that would mean letting himself submit to the jailor. The serial killer was willing to do anything to live. 

"I-I don't want…" Don't what? He didn't want to submit, didn't want to die? The killer didn't want to be brought to a humiliating form beneath the jailor — the supposed force of good for the town — without being able to reveal him for what he really was. "Please… I'm not…" 

He could pull this off. Even if he knew his act was off, even if the jailor knew it was an act, he could manipulate it a different way. Just for a while, and then he'd swing it around and force the tables to turn.

The jailor heard the serial killer's voice, weaker than what he'd expected, practically begging...oh, it was such a good act! Even the thought of it was enough to make his pants tighten. He knew the way the other played, knew exactly what buttons to push to get the serial killer to fall apart in just the right way...and he knew how fun it would be when he finally did.

His lips pressed to the corner of the serial killer's eye, before trailing a long, incredibly wet tongue down the side of his prisoner's face, feeling the murderer tremble lightly at it- obviously he wasn't too fond of the attention. The jailor pressed his tongue to the killer's lips, forcing them open just enough to slide it through, clashing against his hot mouth, taking in the serial killer's breath as he exhaled into the other's cavern. He wrestled with the other's tongue, forcing it back, dominating the kiss as he allowed himself to smirk against the killer's lips.

His hands moved over the serial killer's lithe frame, taking in the well formed pectorals, the brilliant abs as he slipped his hands under the serial killer's shirt to trace the outline of his ribs. The jailor wasn't nearly as handsome as the serial killer, but he'd certainly been complimented enough times, and it didn't look as though the man was exactly rejecting his advances.

He dropped to his knees, hands still running over the serial killer's chest before tugging his pants downward in one quick motion, his head slipping forward, mouth widening to take in the serial killer's length, wide and thick...he could tell the serial killer was well on his way to becoming vocal, the jailor's weapon across the room, the killer's attention stilling on the movements of the jailor's lips around his cock, the hands grasping his back tightly as he let out a groan that had the jailor's grin widening.  
He hadn't even gotten to the best part yet.

Fucking- "Nng…" The serial killer hated how the jailor seemed to be able to make his body feel attracted to him. It had started off terrible. Licking at his face, a kiss that the killer hated to have submitted to, and then the jailor's seeming fascination with his cock quickly added up and surprised the killer. 

The serial killer hadn't expected the jailor to start trying to suck him off, making his length harden faster and the pleasure seep through him. He clung to the jailor's back almost pathetically, digging his stubby nails in as hard as possible with each tongue stroke. 

But the killer could still think brilliantly. The gun had been thrown to the other side of the room, a good, far distance from the jailor. The jailor himself was rather cocky, smug with the belief that he could bring the killer into a mumbling mess of cries and moans just from a few minutes of cock-sucking. 

Taking one hand, the killer found himself threading his cuffed hands through the jailor's hair. His own head dropped to stare down, cheeks flushed and his green eyes alight with new lust, as he watched the jailor. It just seemed to arouse him more, making him more vulnerable to each twitch of the tongue. Half his mind was focused on the alluring sight below him, the other constantly calculating the events and a way to get free.

The jailor loved the control this brought him- it wasn't as though he'd sexed up his prisoners often (although it was certainly better to enjoy their company this way than listen to them whining and cursing over nothing) but it had happened a couple times before. His hands steadied themselves on the serial killer's well defined thighs, sliding over the skin enough to force a tremble from the young man.

The jailor's eyes widened a bit as he took the serial killer deeper into his mouth, feeling the end of his prick bumping against the back of the mouth, deep throating the man as his tongue curled around the length. His movements were precise, enjoying the way the other's hands fisted in the jailor's light hair, the way he was groaning, obviously enjoying himself more than he had imagined.

The jailor released the killer's cock with a pop, staring up at him through half lidded eyes. "You're certainly interested in that gun, aren't you? It's not too far away. Why don't you go for it?" He knew the killer wouldn't be able to get to the weapon in time, the door halfway closed already, keys outside. But what was the fun if the killer did nothing? No, he'd rather amuse himself with the latter's trivial displays than end it this soon.

The serial killer, still with his pants pulled down and hands cuffed together, seemed to actually be contemplating the idea. The jailor sat back a little, staring up at the man amusedly. "Well? Aren't you going to do something?"

The serial killer twisted his head, staring at the gun with a look of contemplation. Even if he wasn't chained and completely (painfully) hard, the gun was closer to the jailor and all the jailor really would've had to do was shut the door. 

The gun wasn't an option. Okay then — the jailor expect him to do something? What was he wanting? For the killer to wrestle with his chains or beg for help to fix his problem? Fuck no; no matter how much he wanted it taken care of and to feel sweet release, he wasn't willing to give the jailor any more satisfaction. 

The jailor knew he was the killer. The serial killer knew that; true colors could be revealed and the outcome wouldn't change much. The jailor had showed his, and the serial killer deserved his shot. 

He snapped his head around, a small, menacing smirk grazing his face. It fit too well, turning the past handsome face into something devilish and sexy. "What do you expect me to do?" he whispered, voice laced with a sense of false passion. This wasn't acting; the psychotic mind had no correct function, but this was the one that rang true.

"Oh, I don't know," the jailor said, eyebrow raised monotonously, staring nonchalantly at the serial killer as though the situation at hand was entirely different than the actuality. The serial killer was smart enough to know he didn't have a chance anyway- he was just playing along with the jailor for now, seemingly increased passionate undertones to his voice as he spoke.

The jailor smirked, eyeing the serial killer somewhat disdainfully as he asked, simply. "What do I expect you to do?" He pretended to ponder, eyes sliding up to face the ceiling, before he glanced back at the killer's face calmly. "I expect you to play along like a good boy...that is if you don't want a totally mortifying death."

The serial killer's eyes were skeptical, and wouldn't hold the jailor's gaze. The jailor didn't seem fazed at all by what was going on between them; more than anything, he seemed amused, which was only shown further when he sat up, elbows placed on the serial killer's knees as he leaned forward. "Would you like it more if I fucked you, right here against the bars of this cell? I'd make you scream...and beg me like the fucking whore you actually are." He pressed his fingers toward the serial killer's mouth, teasing his lips gently. "I'd suck them if you don't want this to hurt."

The serial killer almost snapped and bit his fingers. How dare he imply that he would– No. No. Bide his time, keep trying to think of a way out of this. 

Hesitantly, the killer parted his lips. He glared at the jailor, who just smirked and pressed his fingers into his mouth. The jailor's fingers moved apart and around his mouth, forcing the serial killer's tongue to glide against them and coat them. After a moment, the killer realized he hated staring at the jailor's face and closed his eyes, moving his tongue on his own accord. He could feel the jailor hum in approval. The killer bit down on the fingers, just hard enough to make them stop moving before releasing them. 

Opening his eyes, he found that the jailor was right in front of him, staring. He glared. "Go fuck yourself." 

The jailor seemed amused with any of his attempts to rebel, so maybe, this could work.

The jailor, in one quick motion, tugged the killer's pants down completely, watching the man move uncomfortably in front of him. "Go fuck yourself," he'd said, and the jailor couldn't help but laugh at that, his hands kneading apart the pale thighs, pressing his fingers against the serial killer's entrance before slipping one in, met by plenty of resistance and tension.

"Why so tense, baby?" He asked with a smirk- oh, if only the town knew about the things he did behind closed doors, he'd be thrown in his own jail as a prisoner, keys tossed away and left to rot. The idea was rather brilliant, in all honesty. 

The serial killer's only response was a growl as the jailor added a second finger, scissoring his hold, spreading him more easily than before. A third finger followed shortly thereafter, more precise in movements as he glanced up to the serial killer, smirking at the redness on the man's face, his flushed cheeks and closed eyes.

The serial killer may have been a psychotic fuck, but...well, he seemed to know when to just shut up. The jailor was very pleased, something he rarely was when it came to prisoners. And of course, it wasn't as though he didn't have rather devious tendencies himself...fucking a serial killer inside a prison cell was pretty risky. But wasn't that all the fun of it? Hell, he'd be dead by morning anyway- the jailor could've raped him if he'd wanted, but it was always more fun when the other party was consensual.

The serial killer refused — absolutely refused — to watch the jailor as he maneuvered the fingers inside his ass. His eyes were shut tight, occasionally wincing, with the movements of the one who had all the control. It made him feel sick, knowing that he was helpless to stop the jailor. 

Think! Could he really have a way out of this? His hands were still chained in front of him to the chair, with the keys and gun outside the room. The chair was bolted to the ground, so he couldn't get up and run. How could he kill the jailor from his restricted position? Was it even— 

He let out a small gasp, unable to stop the jolt that ran through his body as the jailor's fingers brushed against something. The killer slammed his mouth closed after, feeling the complete humiliation wash over him, as he bit his lip to prevent any more vocals from escaping. 

But… even thinking about escaping was getting really, really hard to do as the jailor kept brushing against it.

The jailor was greatly surprised at the response he was getting- the serial killer slightly more vocal than anticipated, trying to escape the small pleasured groans from slipping through his lips. His head was starting to roll back, eyes shut tightly as the jailor curled his fingers. The jailor prodded again, trying to gain more of a reaction, a small sigh leaving the serial killer's mouth that only encouraged him.

His fingers undid the handcuffs, forcing the killer to his feet as he slipped his fingers out of the killer's stretched body. The jailor steered the man over to the cell cot, forcing him down by the shoulders with a rough squeeze. "I want you to be vocal," the jailor hissed. "I want to hear you scream."

The killer flexed his hands as he stared up at the jailor, mentally unbelieving that the jailor had really released him from his one limitation. Just to fuck him lying down, try to force him to fucking enjoy what the killer had never wanted to even happen. 

The serial killer contemplated killing the jailor then. He was stronger than the jailor (without a doubt) and would definitely be able to overpower him physically. But if he risked that, then there was a chance that the jailor would pull out some hidden secret. His captor couldn't be that much of an idiot, right? He was being paranoid, but it was the only way for him to ensure his safety and life. 

Just to piss off the jailor, the serial killer spat at his face in response. He knew he was a vocal shit, but he'd never bottomed before and was terrified at the concept. Not that he could do much, with the way the jailor seemed to be so determined.

"That's not very nice," the jailor said, somewhat mockingly as the killer spat at him. He refastened the man's hands into cuffs against the bar of the cell beside the cot, tsking at the serial killer, who was obviously more than annoyed at his situation. He traced his hand over the killer's spine, feeling the other trembling lightly at his touch. "Tell me- am I the first to have you like this?"

His tongue traced the shell of the killer's ear, hand under his chin, rough and calloused as he pressed his body against the killer's, simply lying stretched over the other man. His finger brushed through the other's hair, smirking against the killer's rather soft skin. Then, he maneuvered into a sitting position slowly, unzipping the fly of his pants before slipping them down over slim hips.

The killer was much heavier, more well-built than he was physically, and the jailor had never liked feeling inferior. As petty as it was, he had always been more than jealous of people like this man- able to lash out, charm others with their dashing wiles and devilish grins, not a care in the world...

That's why he was going to fuck him. His length pressed against the serial killer's ass, sharply, impressed that the other wasn't fighting back. "I hate you." The jailor spat simply before snapping his hips forward.

The killer let out a sharp gasp at the forced intrusion, twisting slightly. The jailor pressed his hands down on the serial killer's chest, holding him still as his length fully entered him. It stung, digging through his insides as the jailor pinned him down, He rattled the handcuffs, desperate to move his hands or grab something, just to place his attention elsewhere. 

"F-feeling's mutual," the serial killer snapped. He hated how helpless the situation had turned, hated how completely powerless he was, strapped down to a bedpost with a man smaller than him looming over him. The killer should've been able to overpower him, flip them, murder him—! 

The serial killer could see the twisted glee in the jailor's eyes, the grin that crossed his face and twisted his features into something insane. It was a look the serial killer used himself when he was slicing up his victims. To have it mirrored onto him, along with the tearing pain, made him feel disgusted and terrified.

The jailor wouldn't deny that he had a somewhat sadistic (very sadistic) quality about him, and it only worsened when he came into contact with people like this man, like this murderer, who could've had everything they ever wanted. His hips slammed forward, arms pressing down over the killer's own, nails digging into his cuffed wrists enough that the jailor hoped it might draw blood.

He pulled back, smacking the side of the serial killer's face with a hand as he buried himself up to the hilt inside his less than eager partner, hearing a broken groan fall from the killer's lips as he bent down. The kiss was brief, tasting of blood from the killer's split lip and thick with saliva. It was filthy, just like he was, just like this fucking bastard was.

He grinded himself against the killer, spreading the humiliated man's legs further apart and he tried to angle their positions better, drawing a shout from the killer's split lips as he thudded fully into the man's prostate. The sex wasn't anything like it should've been- it was him, releasing anger against the type of person who deserved to die. But the jailor couldn't deny that it fed some deep need of his.

His mouth latched onto the side of the killer's throat, all teeth and no tongue, nipping at the skin, reddening the flesh further. His cock ripped the serial killer's body apart, drawing a smirk to his lips as the killer shook his hands more fervently in an attempt to free them. The jailor couldn't help himself, bringing his face close to the serial killer's and spitting. "Not so nice, huh?" He growled.

The serial killer only glared for a moment, but it fell away into a half-pained cringe when the jailor plunged into his prostate again. The pleasure was enough to blind his vision, but it wasn't enough to silence the pain. He could still feel the tearing, the teeth, the nails, all digging into him with an incredible amount of hatred. 

Did the bastard do this to everyone he imprisoned? Chained them up, fucked them without mercy, and they just never spoke up? Or was the jailor twice as psychotic as he was, and only let it show with the knowledge that it would never get out if he succeeded in executing him?

The jailor seemed to gain a twisted glee with each thrust, but his face was torn with hatred. The serial killer knew he was insane and embraced it, acted on his blood-lusting urges every so often. The jailor, in a way, was a lot like him. There would come a time, he knew, when the jailor would snap and be unable to function normally — pain, lust, and hatred would be the only things he'd ever know. 

It gave the serial killer a sense of satisfaction, but that left as quickly as the next thrust came, forcing him to give a high cry from the assault.

The jailor couldn't help the sadistic smile that played across his lips at the serial killer's half-pained shout, continuing to thrust into his body mercilessly, hips smashing against the other's with the sound of bone hitting bone, his cock digging into the killer's prostate as the man's back arched, body pressing flush against the jailor's own. His cuffed hands were no longer shaking, his head tilting back as the jailor trailed bites down his collarbone, the flesh already red and abused.

His hands were on the killer's hips now, clenching hard enough that the jailor thought (hoped) they might bruise, watching the serial killer's eyes go wide as he continued to worry his lip with shiny teeth, attempting to prevent any more sounds from coming out- the jailor's nails soon pressed into the fleshy hip, and the serial killer let loose another yell, music to the jailor's ears.

He felt the serial killer's body tightening around him, sucking him in further as his hips bucked once more, white spilling across the jailor's abdomen as the jailor, with a sigh, thrust forward again, his trembling body going over the edge as he released himself into the killer's abused form, glancing down to see the other shaking in disgust at the movement.

The jailor leaned down, pulling the knife out from inside his shirt, waving it at the killer teasingly. "I think it's time I get rid of you, don't you agree? This makes it a little more...personal. I hope you don't have any objections."

The serial killer went tense, the obvious fear shining in his eyes as he stared at the silver knife. Even in the odd lighting of the cell, it seemed to reflect enough light to reveal the edge — one that the killer had no trouble imagining digging, drawing, stabbing into his skin. 

His tension lasted for only a moment before he lashed out against the restraints, kicking as hard as he could and pulling his arms hard against the handcuffs. The jailor let out a hollow laugh, sitting firmly on his legs to keep him pinned down. 

The knife… was meant to be his weapon. A serial killer was meant to kill with a knife — leaving marks on victims, letting the slow, drawn-out torture settle over them as their silent screams filled his ears. The irony that the killer knew he couldn't fight against it, knew it really was useless struggling, brought a shaky stillness to him again. 

He was quivering as the knife drew near, twitching away from the tip as it ghosted over his skin. With a deep breath, he moved his eyes and met the crazy look of the jailor. "You're just like me," he muttered, unable to form loud or dominating words due to the fear. But the message was clear in his eyes and his words. "Whether you believe it or not, we are the same."

“I’m nothing like you,” the jailor spat, allowing himself to revel in the rarely shown psychopathy for a few moments. “I’m worse."

And he brought the knife down.


End file.
